


Corner Pocket

by GrayJay



Category: Daredevil (Comics), X-Men - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 01:18:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5520086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrayJay/pseuds/GrayJay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Logan’s still waiting for the day a student wanders into the rec room and gets their tiny mind blown by Cyclops, beer in hand, describing in graphic detail </em>exactly<em> what the blind guy across the table should do with the eight ball.</em></p><p>Vignette at the intersection of two friendships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Corner Pocket

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/6237.html?thread=11528797#cmt11528797
> 
> (Also technically a fill for a "Matt plays pool" prompt, which I forgot to bookmark and now can't find.)

Matt and Scott play pool by a complex and completely insane system of house rules, originally devised to counter their respective advantages, then amended endlessly because they’re the kinds of assholes who think “complicated” means the same thing as “fun.” Logan has a bead on the basics--Matt gets a single read-off of the racked balls, then has to track them by memory; Scott has to call his full sequence of shots in advance, and fouls if he goes off-pattern--but there are new twists every time, and he’s learned over the years to just relax and enjoy the show. Scott plays pool with the same single-minded intensity he brings to the battlefield, Matt banters, and they both shit-talk continually and viciously: Logan’s still waiting for the day a student wanders into the rec room and gets their tiny mind blown by Cyclops, beer in hand, describing in graphic detail _exactly_ what the blind guy across the table should do with the eight ball.

They’re playing to 500 today, and after Scott ekes out a narrow victory, Matt asks Logan, “Wanna tag in?”

Logan laughs. “How dumb do you think I am?” 

“Aw, Logan. Still bitter about the bike?” Scott turns to Matt. “The first and last time we played, Logan was so certain he could beat me, he bet the keys to his Triumph.”

Matt lets out a low whistle. “How’d that work out for you?”

Logan snorts. “How the hell d’you think?” He’d still been the new kid on the team back then, and he’d figured it’d be a good way to put the uptight jerk in his place, and maybe impress Jeannie. Summers had won the flip for the break, and Logan hadn’t even gotten a turn.

“I gave them back,” Scott points out. “Eventually. Which I will regret to my dying day, because she’s a gorgeous bike, and she deserves _so much better_ than you.”

“And that,” Logan tells him, “Is why the only person who’ll play pool with you twice is blind.”

Matt grabs his beer back off the table. “You think he’d fall for it again? I’ve always wanted a motorcycle.”

“I’ve seen you behind the wheel, you fuckin’ New Yorker,” Logan tells him. “You’re not touching my bike.”

“You ever driven one?” Scott asks. “We’ve got a few beaters in the garage, and a lot of private property.” They’re sprinting up the stairs a moment later.

Logan’s not sure what it is about Matt that cracks right through Scott’s straightlaced shell, turns him into the reckless teenager he probably never actually was. Logan and Matt aren’t close, exactly: they talk about sword forms, and what Maya’s up to these days; and bitch about ninjas. But Logan’s used to thinking of himself as Scott’s closest friend, and watching Scott and Matt scamper around like the fucking Bobbsey twins is always a reminder of how little Scott and Logan actually share outside of the X-Men. Logan goes drinking with the two of them, and listens to them laugh uproariously about the horrifying shit they grew up with; and tries to think of whether he knows anyone like that, who’s broken in the exact same places that he is. He’s had a handful of those moments with Creed, but they’ve always left him chafing in his skin, scared of what he’ll see if he catches his own eye in a mirror.

There’s a cue sitting abandoned on the pool table, and Logan chalks it up, then racks the balls. “Three in the corner pocket,” he tells no one; and sinks the five instead.


End file.
